


Frostbite

by witch_brew



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: AU, Gen, Gore, Gross, Kelpie - Freeform, NSFW, Nonhuman, Other, SO, Short, Strade is a waterhorse, Vore, Waterhorse, ask to tag, fae, frost spirit, he also fucks you, he eats you, partial drowning, theres that, very gross, very short, you die, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 02:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12925629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witch_brew/pseuds/witch_brew
Summary: A winter spirit lands at the wrong lake.





	Frostbite

**Author's Note:**

> I'M BACK. ITS SHOrt AND ItS GROSS AND HI. REVIEW IF YOU LIKE It PLEASE REVIEWS HELP ME WRITE

Frost clings to your lashes, permanently whitening them. Your skin holds a permanent chill, and each step you take leaves behind frozen ground. You are winter incarnate, a frost spirit.

You're bringing winter to a forest in Germany now, tracing fingers along tree branches and weaving freezing dew and icy fog through the ancient wood. The snowfall is light, but within the hour it will be a blizzard, a dangerous monster willing to kill but leaving beauty in it's wake.

You weave your way through the air, riding freezing winds and filling skies with snow clouds. By morning the entire forest will be covered in white and you will be gone forever.

There's a lake beneath you and you are just itching to freeze it. 

You laugh as you swoop down, ice crystals swirling around you in a delightful display. Winter is cruel and magical and lovely and you hold her close to your frozen heart.

You land on the bank, spreading your ice across the mud and grass as you delicately step into the water.

It does not freeze, and you pause, disturbed.

But not for long. 

A creature, horse like with wet weeds in it's tangled mane, rises from the lake, and slowly walks towards you. His eyes are hollow and glow the most unnatural gold. His teeth are bared. Sharp.

“Oh. A waterhorse? I guess I'll skip this lake.”

But he neglects to acknowledge you. He speeds up, and you think he might be grinning, and then he's on you and he's biting into your side and your silver veins are weeping blood into the cold waters as he drags you down.

This is not right. His kind are meant to eat humans, not other spirits. But here he has you, midsection gripped between his horrible teeth as he drags you deeper still. You scream out, raking icy claws down his nose, thrashing violently and widening the wound his awful mouth has gifted you. 

He comes up once you've exhausted yourself, the fight draining from your body, subsiding into weakened struggles, as pathetic as a mortal.

He drags you to shore. 

There, at the edge of the lake, he lays your wounded form on the ground and shifts, skin reshaping itself into a 'human' appearance. His hair still drips as if it will never dry, waterweed tangled throughout. His eyes are still an unnatural gold. He's still got your silver blood smeared across his face like war paint. 

He's smiling at you.

He's also entirely naked, arousal blatantly obvious. You realize what he's planning to do as he starts to step towards you and you turn away, struggling to drag your broken body away from him.

He steps firmly on your lower back, drawing a pained gasp from your frost blue lips. 

“I've never had a frost spirit before.” He says, and then he's tearing away your clothes, revealing your skin to the refreshing winter air. The cold is almost enough to make you forget your pain. Almost.

He parts your legs forcefully and you claw at his arms like a wild animal, fear and an instinctual urge to escape clawing it's way up your throat like bile. Frost spirals up his arms in intricate patterns and he does not care.

He pushes his way inside you and you arch up, gasping, the painful stretch stilling your struggles for a moment before you begin anew, thrashing and pushing and begging him to let you go.

His hand against your throat stills you, pushes your head back into the ground as you struggle to breathe. His thrusts only increase, hips driving into yours with an unforgiving pace. The pleasure does come, overpowering the dull ache the stretch caused. You are a lonely spirit and don't partake in this often, and your tiny noises only seem to increase his delight.

“Scream for me.” He hisses, releasing your throat, and you do, loudly enough that even a human might hear something, though they'd think it just the wind. 

Those storms you called up are quite ferocious after all. 

You can't control your voice, screams breaking off into confused moans, but then his fingers are digging into the wound he made and all you know is

p a i n.

You scream and scream until something in your throat tears, tears freezing halfway down your cheeks, and then he's pressing in as deep as he can and there is warmth spilling into you, melting your frozen insides, and you sob out loud.

He pulls out of you then, licking his lips. Presses an open mouthed kiss to the juncture of your shoulder and neck. Again. And then he bites down deep, tearing through skin and muscle and sinew until his teeth scrape bone. 

He pulls back, chewing the chunk of your skin he took, and you're too busy screaming to see the look of delight on his face. You taste good.

“Hey, buddy, wanna know a secret?” He says, once your screams have tapered off again.

You stare at him, teary eyed and weak and bleeding so much.

“My name is Strade.”

You whimper, and then scream when he buries his face in your stomach and starts to chew. He told you his name, and you know now you are going to die here. You'll never see another winter. 

Your blood stains the snow as he digs fingers into the wound on your gut, tearing you open and exposing your insides to the air. He rips pieces of you out and shoves them into his mouth, your life's essence dripping off his greedy chin.

You scream again and again until you cannot scream anymore. 

In the end you lie there, insides spilling outwards into the snow, and you stare at him as he eats. He smiles, oh so friendly, as you feel your life fading. 

The last thing you see is gold.

When morning comes the forest is a blanket of frozen white, stillness settled heavily in the air as animals hide away in their warm dens. Icicles hang dangerously, like warnings, from tree branches. In the center of it all is a lake, forever liquid, never to freeze, it's shores covered in silver stained snow and marked, occasionally, with hoof prints.


End file.
